


Good Things are Taken

by SharkGirlNirea



Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [4]
Category: Criminal Case (Video Game), Criminal Case: Mysteries of the Past
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M, Gen, Gladys Perrin Needs a Hug, Influence of Irish mob, Mysteries of the Past Case # 23: Death is a Cabaret, Mysteries of the Past District 4: Sinner's End, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Poor girl really got the short end of the stick in life, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkGirlNirea/pseuds/SharkGirlNirea
Summary: Marla considers herself a step above the prostitutes inhabiting Sinner's End brothels. But when several of them come to the Moulin Rose, begging for shelter after the closure of Madame Xiang's brothel, Marla knows she'd be sending them to their deaths if she turned them away.But even if her profession as a cabaret dancer is preferable to prostitution, a conversation with one of the prostitutes shows Marla she has much more in common with some of the prostitutes than she realized.
Relationships: (In the Past) - Relationship, Marla de Paradis & Gladys Perrin, Marla de Paradis/Barnaby Wilson
Series: Mysteries of the Past Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975516
Kudos: 3





	Good Things are Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: This story contains mentions of prostitution. There's nothing sexually explicit, but I think that's something that should warrant a heads up.

Marla considered herself and her fellow cabaret dancers a step above the prostitutes inhabiting Sinner’s End’s brothels. 

Even so, she was not heartless enough to deny protection to the women who had recently swarmed the Moulin Rose, begging for refuge after the closure of Madame Xiang's brothel. The streets of Sinner’s End were normally unsafe and no place for a woman to be caught alone, but now, with a serial killer targeting prostitutes prowling the streets of the district, a prostitute living on the streets with neither shelter nor protection, was a death sentence.

However, due to the three dozen prostitutes now living in the Moulin Rose, the Rose was, at the moment, very overcrowded.

“Marla--”

Emma, who, along with Marla, was the de facto leader of the Rose, pushed through a group of Xiang’s former prostitutes.

“Marla,” Emma repeated, raising her voice over the surrounding conversations. “Are they going to sleep on the stage? We don’t have enough bedrooms.”

“We can probably fit several of them on the floors of the upstairs bedrooms,” Marla said. “But I don’t know how much space the bedroom floors have, or how many people could sleep on them.”

There was a pause between the two women.

“You should go upstairs and check,” Emma said.

When Marla still hesitated, Emma sighed. “I’ve seen you fend off drunk men from the fight clubs. You’re better equipped than me to investigate. I can stay here and keep everyone organized. Please.”

Marla sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, briefly closing her eyes. “Fine.”

Donning her weaponized fan, Marla ascended to the upper levels of the Moulin Rose. As was the case with most places in Sinner’s End, the Irish mob owned the Moulin Rose. Finley Flanagan, one of the leaders of the mob, had initially attempted to convert the Rose into a brothel. When the then-owner of the Moulin Rose had insisted the Rose could earn as much money as a brothel, Finley had given her three weeks to prove her claim. With the help of advertising, putting the dancers through rigorous practice, and pulling from a budget she’d begun saving when the Flanagans’ influence in Sinner’s End had become plain, she’d gathered the money for Finley. Since then, he’d allowed the Moulin Rose to run its business, as long as he received a part of its earnings.

Finley would leave them alone, but he wouldn’t extend protection to the women who worked for him.

Gripping her fan, Marla passed through the hallway, ready to sprint away at any sign of unnatural movement. The hallway was dark, silent, and perhaps because of the coffee she’d drunk earlier, Marla was keenly aware of every noise around her. She jumped at every movement she thought she saw-- yes, she was no prostitute, but she doubted the serial killer would care to distinguish between cabaret dancers and harlots, especially as now the Rose contained both.

Something rustled behind one of the doors.

A bout of dizziness swept over Marla as she struggled not to collapse onto the floor. If someone was in there, she couldn’t collapse; she’d be useless then--

Approaching the door, Marla pressed her lips together to control her breathing. Marla peered into the space between the door and the door frame.

A short, pale woman was sitting on the edge of the room’s bed. She was hunched over, staring at the floor, curly, blonde hair obstructing her face. Cautiously, Marla pushed open the door, still ready to run or use her fan.

“It’s unsafe to be up here alone,” Marla called.

The woman jumped, nearly falling off the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing up here?” 

“I’m sorry,” said the woman, although as Marla approached, it became evident she was closer to a girl than a woman. “I wasn’t doin’ nuthin.’”

“You were crying,” Marla said, noting the girl’s red eyes and wet face. “Were you trying to hide from the Scarlet Slayer? It’s easier to be in a large group of people to do that.” Now that Marla was closer to the young woman, she recognized her as one of Xiang’s former prostitutes.

“No, I’m not hiding,” the young woman said. “I-- I just--” She stared at the floor, intertwining her fingers. “You’re Marla de Paradis, right?”

“Yes. You used to work for Madame Xiang. Who are you?”

“I’m Gladys,” she said quietly. She bit her lip and began softly crying while whispering, “I hate Sinner’s End. I hate it. I hate it.”

And she looked at Marla with eyes that were so full of repressed pain and an obvious cry for  _ someone  _ to listen to her that Marla locked the door of the bedroom and said, “What, exactly, is wrong?”

“It’s just-- I hate Sinner’s End!” Gladys cried. “I’m grateful and all that you gave us a place to stay for now, but I tried t’do everythin’ I could to avoid prostitution once I got another job. But my mother got sicker and the money at that job wasn’t enough. But me mother was so happy when I stopped prostitutin’ meself years ago, but now I’m back. And I’m tryin’ to be a good daughter, I am, but I really thought that I” -- she stopped to sniff and gasp for air-- “I just thought with my job at the barber shop, I could leave my prostitutin’ days behind me, and just live…. Normally.”

It wasn’t an unfamiliar story. Most prostitutes in Sinner’s End had been pulled into the profession out of desperation for money or because someone had forced them to do so. But to have briefly escaped the profession only to be dragged back into it was a special level of cruel.

A level of cruelty Marla understood.

“If it makes a difference, I know how you feel,” Marla said. “A couple weeks ago, I was engaged. I thought I’d be able to leave Sinner’s End behind.”

Marla smiled and her voice quieted. “We met around 15 months ago. Barnaby was the first doctor I’d ever encountered in Sinner’s End who actually cared about and respected his patients. He didn't care if they were prostitutes, mobsters, or impoverished. He came from a rich family, but he chose to work in Sinner’s End to improve the lives of the people he thought deserved quality medical care, even if they were societal outcasts. He said when we married, I could leave Sinner’s End and never look back.”

A familiar heaviness rose in Marla’s chest as she stared down at her feet, some of her hair falling out of place. “But then a few weeks ago, he was kidnapped and beaten to death, and with him died my chance of leaving Sinner’s End.”

“Oh-- was his last name Wilson? I remember hearin’ about a Dr. Wilson being murdered,” Gladys said. “That’s awful. His family wouldn’t take you in?”

Marla scoffed. “His family hates me. It took a year for Barnaby to convince his father to give his blessing for our marriage. I didn’t care if his father approved of us or not, but Barnaby loved that miserly, selfish, man and cared about his opinion--I know what his father said about me. His father barely approved of Barnaby giving away his inheritance to help people in Sinner’s End. Wanting to marry a cabaret dancer was shameful. If Barnaby’s father had accepted me sooner, I could’ve left here months ago.”

Hugging her bare arms, Marla said, “Barnaby even left me money in his will, but his family’s been fighting me in court. They’re saying since we weren’t yet married, I wasn’t part of the family and I can’t take his inheritance. They’ve got a good lawyer, and I can’t afford one. The only thing I have left of him is a paper I tore out of one of his anatomy textbooks.”

The bedroom was silent, the noise from downstairs muted. After several moments which Marla used to wipe her face dry, Gladys said softly, “I had help leavin’ Sinner’s End initially, too. And-- and goin’ back to prostitution feels like dishonorin’ the man who helped me. He got me the job at the barber shop…. But now I’m insultin’ his memory. It’s like I’m spittin’ on his grave.”

“Who helped you?” Marla asked. Very few people uninterested in the services offered by the brothels bothered to interact with the prostitutes, much less help them.

“An Irish priest. Father Donovan.”

“Father Donovan?” Marla murmured. “Wasn’t he murdered a few months ago? I remember hearing customers talking about him being shot by a corrupt police officer.”

“That was him,” Gladys said softly. “Now that he’s dead, I can’t rely on anyone for help. None of us can, what with that killer huntin’ us all. Already, one of my friends has been killed. And we’re tryin’ to be careful, but who’ll be next?” Her voice shrill, she said, “Who’ll be like Caitlin and all those other girls? Who’ll end up-- what did that newspaper say?-- disemboweled with a dove’s feather on her? Who’ll-- who’ll--”

Marla looked at Gladys for a moment before holding out her fan. “Twist this, but hold it away from your face.”

Gladys cautiously accepted the fan, and, after a few seconds, triggered the fan’s needle, jumping as it popped out of the fan.

“I put that in my fan when I first made it,” Marla said. “In a place like Sinner’s End, it’s a comfort to have.”

“Could-- would it be okay if you taught us how to make one of those?” Gladys asked. “I know a lot of us would feel safer if we were armed.”

“If you work here,” Marla said. “The Moulin Rose isn’t a brothel, so if you and your friends stay here, you’ll have to become either dancers or waitresses. But all our dancers have fans so, yes, if you work here, I can teach you.”

“You mean, I can stop prostitutin’ meself?”

“Like I said, we aren’t a brothel. You’d have to go elsewhere to keep being a prostitute.”

Gladys smiled. “Thank you.”

Marla returned Gladys’ smile. “When you’re ready, come downstairs. We’re making sleeping arrangements. I’ll ask Emma if you can stay in here.”

* * *

“You took your time,” Emma murmured when Marla arrived back downstairs. “I was about to send someone to find you. The Flanagans are here.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes. Fiona’s talking to-- well, Fiona  _ was _ talking to those men by the stairs. I don’t know where she is now. And Finley’s--”

She was interrupted by Finley Flanagan pushing through a crowd of women and pointing at Marla and Emma.

“Oi!” Finley shouted. “You two are in charge o’here, yes? Why are me girls here an’ not workin’?”

“Because the owner of your most popular brothel was just arrested and because there’s a serial killer on the loose,” said Emma. “They have nowhere to work, and they can’t work if they’re scared for their lives. If the Scarlet Slayer isn’t caught, all the brothel owners will start killing men they think are the Scarlet Slayer, and your business will be ruined. The Scarlet Slayer is causing your issues. Shouldn’t you be hunting for him?”

Emma was much braver when surrounded by people, even though Finley could have shot her then and there for disrespecting him without anyone tattling to the police. Finely, however, chuckled.

“Aye, you’ve got a point. Those annoyin’ coppers are tryin’ to catch the Slayer and I’d like to catch him before they do. But if this stops you from continuin’ your business, you’ll be feelin’ my wrath, understand?”

“Er-- yes,” Marla said, struggling to maintain eye contact with Finley. “The cabaret will continue running as normal.”

“See to it,” Finley said before he pushed back through the crowd.

“Ugh,” Emma said when Finley was out of the building. “He might--”

_ “They have a knife!” _

Marla, Emma, and several other people whipped their heads around to stare at the woman who had shouted.

Several feet away from Marla and Emma, a cloaked figure was knocking and pushing people aside, clutching something in their hands. Commotion insured. Several women screamed, clinging to each other. Two people chased after the figure, and questions and shouting filled the room.

“What’s wrong?” Marla asked. “Who was that? Who said they had a knife? Where did they run from?”

“I don’t know!” the woman cried. “They just appeared--”

“No, they ran from upstairs--” someone else added.

“They were holding a knife--”

“It was covered in blood--”

“Blood?” said Emma. “But who-- Marla?”

Marla sprinted past Emma, her breath shallow and rapid. Marla ran past the storage room, down the hallway, and to the bedroom, where she’d left Gladys.

“Gladys?” she called. “Gladys, are y--”

The words died in Marla’s throat.

Gladys was on the floor, slumped against the bed. Her closed eyes and slightly open mouth would have indicated she was sleeping if not for the pool of blood she was sitting in.

Her stomach had been sliced open. Because Marla had studied the page from Barnaby’s medical textbook for hours, she knew enough about anatomy to know if she were to walk to Gladys and look at her stomach, she’d be able to look right at Gladys’ intestines.

A single white dove’s feather lay on top of Gladys’ stomach.

_ Oh no, oh no, I’m such an idiot, why did I let her stay up here alone-- _

“Marla?” Emma called, running up to the bedroom. “What’s--oh. Ohhhhh….” She grasped Marla’s shoulder, pressing her hand to her mouth. 

Once Emma had collected herself, she tugged Marla out of the bedroom. 

“Don’t look at her, Marla,” she said quietly. “We should try to contact the police.”


End file.
